


I'm A Damsel, I'm in Distress, I Can Handle This. Have A Nice Day.

by Lollilox



Series: Do Your Research [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Halloween AU, Moicy, btdubs angela and brigitte are roommates now, buuhhhh??? idek i am just gay for intelligent smack talk, disney tie in sorta, mercy as megara, mercy is a very angry drunk, moira as hades, moira being a lovable douchebag, party time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lollilox/pseuds/Lollilox
Summary: At a company Halloween party, Mercy drinks a little too much and ends up babysat by everyone's favorite snarkmaster, Moira.





	I'm A Damsel, I'm in Distress, I Can Handle This. Have A Nice Day.

**Author's Note:**

> Henlo friends. I am a little late to the OW fandom and this is my first fic, please forgive any lore/character mistakes. This is inspired by Halloween hype, Mercy's Winged Victory skin (sorta), and my super crave of seeing Moira dressed as Hades. Please enjoy - I had a lot of fun writing it.

"Angela, we're going to be late."

The blonde sitting at the vanity did not stir but to narrow her eyes at the reflection in the large, oval mirror.

"Angela!"

Tail end of a fine brush twitching, the woman in question pursed her lips, annoyance ebbing after a beat of silence, returning to focus on the task at hand.

"Angela!!!"

A clatter sounded from the hard surface of the vanity, a perturbed huff coming from the blonde. "Hau ab! Du machst mich nervös!" The chair screeched against the tile of the bathroom floor, a whirlwind of now unleashed fury clip-clopping into the hall, wielding a make-up brush like a stake intended to find the heart of a vampire.  
Brigitte staggered backwards, hopping out of the way in a flurry of bright colored pom poms. "Calm down, Angela. You look lovely, but-" she took a breath and ran a hand over her hair, unaccustomed to the large bow now front and center on top of her head, holding her trademark ponytail in place, "you know, Halloween is only for one night."  
"I know, Brigitte." Angela replied, attempting to piece her dignity back together, carefully tucking the brush into her clutch. "Beauty takes time. I've been trying to win that costume contest for three years now, and I'm so close to victory I can almost taste it. Ninety-nine percent! Nothing can go wrong." She sniffed, holding her head up high, and extending her arms as if to signal Brigitte to drink in the glorious visage that was Angela Ziegler, in costume.  
Wrinkling her nose, Brigitte looked at her long time friend and new roommate. There was no doubt she looked nice. A classic choice, from a classic film. Beautiful purple fabric draped around the Medic's body, painstakingly crafted to look exactly like Megara's dress, as it had in the 1997 debut of Hercules. Her hair, while still blonde, had been teased, sculpted, and set with multiple pins and passes of hairspray. A vision in purple.  
An extremely late vision.  
"You're definitely going to win." Brigitte declared, giving her roommate a smile and a thumbs up. _If we ever get there in time._  
Satisfied, Angela smirked, looking smug, and trotted out of the hall, toward the door, with cheerleader Brigitte in tow.

As Brigitte had predicted, they had arrived "fashionably" late. The party was already in full swing, with the office decked out in Halloween regalia. Angela had spent plenty of hours prepping for the party herself, hanging streamers and meticulously placing rubber spiders in cobwebs. Now, at the annual party, Angela could absorb the aura of all her hard work, and watch all the people enjoying it.  
Immediately picking up a glass of punch, Angela poked her finger at Brigitte after taking a ladylike sip. "See? No one even noticed we were late." She puckered her lips, smacking them together, furrowing her brow at the bitter taste of the drink. A brief shiver later, and Angela had broken into a megawatt smile. "Now, we can enjoy."  
Brigitte couldn't do anything but relent to her roommate's cheeriness. When she got her way, she was really quite agreeable. "I'm just ready for some sweets. Do you think there's donuts?"  
Angela nodded, taking another sip of her drink. "Made sure of it, mein Schatz." Tilting her head to the far end of the room near the speakers blasting festive music, Angela gave Brigitte another grin. It was easy to appease Brigitte, and bringing her along to the office party was the first of many kindnesses to repay. She'd been very tolerant of all of her quirks, including the late night sleep walking and coffee-fuelled extended work hours that seemed to bleed into Angela's personal life. Before Brigitte, life had been considerably more lonely.  
Watching as Brigitte gleefully hopped over to the table of sweets and began stuffing them into her mouth while she chatted to the people around her, Angela exhaled contentedly, her gaze then drifting to her glass.

The neon pink concoction bubbled in her glass, nearly empty before long.  
People had come and gone to congratulate her on the decorations, the catering, the music - even a few eager followers of her work. She talked, she danced, enjoying the compliments her costume was receiving.

As the night went on, and the early birds moving on to a different party crawl destination had thinned out the herd somewhat, Angela found herself pink cheeked and alone, nursing glass number five, staring into the alarmingly pink drink.

"You should have stopped at three." An unfamiliar voice announced itself from a few paces away.  
Angela looked up, brows furrowed as her vision seemed to go fuzzy and then focus on an unfamiliar face.  
Pale. Slender. Sharp.  
"I'm fine, not that it's any of your business how much I can drink." Angela replied, pursing her lips.  
"Someone your weight should only have consumed a maximum of three drinks within two hours before becoming legally intoxicated." The stranger posed, bringing her fingers to a pointed tent in front of her chest.  
Angela wasn't certain if she could hear a foreign twang the extremely offensive stranger's words, or if it was just the alcohol making her sound strange. Whatever the case, not a living soul was able to comment on Angela Ziegler's weight without an artfully sculpted retort coming right back at them.  
"Welllll maybe I like breaking laws." Angela slurred, raising her brows at the stranger once their face came into focus.  
A singular blue eye paired with a red eye stared straight back. "Somehow, I'm not certain that's true, Dr. Ziegler." She smirked.  
Angela frowned deeply, poking the stranger squarely in the chest. "You talk a lot for someone who doesn't know me very well- wait..." The stranger's clothes came into focus, namely, a small skull pin fastening a swathe of black fabric over a distressed grey robe.  
Clutching the fabric in her fist, Angela took a step forward and wobbled on her feet. "What is this?"  
"A costume," the stranger replied, bluntly, as if to express it was an obvious observation to make. "This is a Halloween party."  
"Shut up," Angela sputtered, going red. "How do you know that film? Who are you?"  
The stranger, with her spray-dyed blue hair with red roots peeking out, smiled devilishly at the Swiss doctor. "It's a classic," she replied. "Doctor Moira O'Deorain. Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doctor Ziegler. I have been interested in your research for some time now."  
Angela's frown deepened, sobered by the thought of the pompous ass that had just waltzed into her life, with her big, dumb brain. "To what or whom do I owe the pleasure of being plagued by your accompaniment?" Angela queried, doing her very best to keep her words concise and untouched by the slur that threatened to undermine her hilarious attempt at retaining her dignity. "Whatever it is, it won't live to see tomorrow."  
"Interesting. Are you always this hostile, or is it possible that I make you uncomfortable?" Moira posed, giving another smirk. "However, to answer your question, your roommate asked me to look after you just before she made a hasty exit with approximately a dozen pastries stuffed into her brassiere."  
Deepening another shade of pink, Angela knit her brows together and let go of the other doctor's robes, rubbing her palm on her own chest to attempt to wipe off the germs. "Suppose I'll have to make it look like an accident," she mumbled under her breath. "Shame."  
"I'll assume that means that you are just an aggressive person," Moira murmured, bending at the waist to lean forward into Angela's personal space. "Shame, indeed."  
"What are you even doing?" asked the blonde, clearly attempting to plot an escape. "I don't need a babysitter."  
Retrieving a note from Brigitte, Moira cleared her throat, and took one hand to Angela's to snatch up the drink she'd almost spilled in an attempted escape. As if to reposition an irate chihuahua, Moira used her foot to turn Angela back to her original position, and continued with the note, holding the drink like a trophy, just out of reach of the petite doctor's grasp. "When Angela has been drinking, she usually manages to get into trouble, and someone else's bed. Help her get home safe."  
Angela stomped her foot, scowling. "What a rat! That was _one time!_ "  
"You seem like you could use a lift home." Moira placed the drink on a nearby waiter's tray, and offered her long-fingered hand to the blonde. "It would seem you are in distress."  
"You know what? I'm a damsel," she lurched forward, "I'm in distress," again, pushing Moira's surprisingly solid core out of the way, "I can handle this. Have a nice day."

Without a moment's notice, Moira's hands closed around Angela's middle, swinging the blonde up and over her shoulder, keeping her tethered there by winding her arms around the backs of Angela's thighs. "I'm afraid you may be too close to the situation to discern your next course of action without disastrous outcome."  
Fury raged in Angela's body until she was positively fuming, using her alcohol-fuelled anger to thrash against Moira's body like a freshly caught fish trying to make a break for it. "Let me go!" she shrieked, before feeling a sharp prick in her backside, and feeling the fight drain out of her with heavy eyelids leading the way.

Waking with a start, Angela sat upright, immediately regretting the decision as a heinous smart in her head forced her back down onto the bed.  
Sunlight peeped through the cracks in the slatted blinds, the smell of fresh coffee percolating through her bedroom via the open door to the hall.  
From the en-suite bathroom, the sound of the running shower puzzled the groggy doctor, realizing all too late that she was in her bed, still clothed in her (now very dishevelled) costume.

Taking the time to recount the events of the night, Angela felt certain that she'd made a very bad mistake.  
The thought had solidified itself as the lanky redheaded Doctor O'Deorain had strolled out of the en-suite after the hum of the shower had ceased.

"No-!" Angela wheezed, feeling sick to her stomach, and looking a little green around the edges.  
Moira adjusted the towel on her chest, barely long enough to cover herself from being indecently exposed. "Hmm?" She pondered at the blonde, looking more than a little bit of a mess. "Ah." It hadn't taken long to follow Angela's thought process. "No."  
"No?" Clinging to any hope of her nightmares not coming true, Angela repeated the word back to the redhead.  
"If you are assuming that we had sexual relations, the answer is 'no'." Moira clarified, gesturing to herself and the towels, explaining. "I took you back home last night after drink number five, and watched you to be certain you didn't choke on your own vomit."  
"Why can't I remember it?"  
"Did you not hear me say 'drink number five'?"  
Angela frowned at herself. "Yeah, that checks out." She ran a hand through her now crispy and crunchy hair, groaning.  
"You're lucky you have someone who cares about you enough to look after you when you're inebriated." Moira spoke, taking a second towel to her hair to scrub it, leaving the short red stands standing up at all ends.  
"I suppose a thank you is in order?" Angela posed, rubbing her temples, in complete disbelief of what she was about to do - thank a stranger for looking after her in her embarrassing state.  
Moira chuckled. "Charming that you think I care about you, Doctor Ziegler." She raked her long fingernails through her hair at the scalp. "I meant Brigitte. She asked me to ensure you didn't end up in someone else's bed. As I understand, you have a habit of it."  
The blonde went straight back to scowling. "How dare you!" She hissed the words, followed by a sharp intake of breath at the first sign of pain concerning the thudding in her head. "Why did you even shower in here? Just to mislead me?!"  
A wicked grin spread across Moira's lips. "Something like that." Just then, the towels were dropped to the floor, and Moira began dressing herself from the neatly folded pile of clothing on the vanity table.

Nearly dying of embarrassment, Angela looked away hurriedly, eyes wide at the display of nudity, brash confidence, and all-out nonchalance that was so infuriating it threatened to make the blonde speak up again.  
She said nothing, in fear of drawing more attention to herself while Moira dressed, possibly hindering the expedience of the clothing.  
Brigitte's clothes hung off of Moira's body in the end, however, Moira reached for something on the vanity, and handed it to the otherwise paralyzed doctor laying in bed. "Oh, and you won the costume contest. Or, more accurately, _we_ won the costume contest."  
Angela stared at the outstretched photograph of a passed out blonde Megara, hoisted up on the shoulder of Hades, looking suavely into the camera as if to taunt her from behind the glossy surface.  
"..."  
"Same time next year?" Moira smirked, twirling her fingers at the bedridden blonde to say farewell. Then, she turned her back, and was gone.

Angela stared at the photograph until she'd heard the front door click shut, then sighed out a breath, and turned the photograph over, turning beet red as she stared at the phone number on the back.


End file.
